


Favorite Brand

by Deeranger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, BAMF Dean Winchester, Beer, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drunken Flirting, Forced, Gay Male Character, Heterosexual Dean Winchester, Heterosexual Sam Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, I Blame Tumblr, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Graphic Violence, One Shot, Protective Dean Winchester, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 01:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deeranger/pseuds/Deeranger
Summary: Sam and Dean are working a case in Colorado and trawl the local bar for information. But no one seem to be interested in telling them anything whatsoever - except for one drunkard who suddenly opens up and starts conversing with Sam. But the man's interest in the younger Winchester turns out to be very different from what Sam had thought.





	Favorite Brand

 

 

"Your favorite brand too?" a voice suddenly said when a shoulder nudged lightly into Sam's while he was sitting by the bar counter. Sam automatically whipped his head to the side by instinct, instantly scanning everyone and everything around for any sort of threat. Only, it's just some drunkard clumsily positioning himself on the stool next to Sam, looking at him with a broad and slightly crooked smile.

 

"I know I've always loved it. Not as sour as the good ol' Bud," the man snickered, raising his bottle into the air a little, gesturing for Sam to clink bottles with him.

 

For a moment Sam just sat there, caught by surprise. Normally no one seemed to ever just randomly start up a conversation around here. He and Dean had only been here twice, staking out the place and trying to get some much needed intel on a case they were working. No luck so far though. No one seemed to be willing to spill and everyone seemed so strangely buttoned up, not even acknowledging their presence by at least saying hi or anything. This new and sudden change in the verbal department had Sam confused for a moment. But he instantly shook it off and formed a small smile, lifting up his bottle.

 

”You’re right about that,” he said, clinking the Blue Moon glass bottle with its grey, blue and red label against the identical one in the man’s hand. The smile on the stranger’s face broadened and he tilted his head while putting the bottle to his lips:

 

”Cheers!” he said and gulped down two big mouthfuls.

 

”So what brings you to our small town? Haven’t seen ya here before,” the man asked, looking sincerely at Sam under the yellow light of the low hanging lamps above the bar counter. Sam swallowed a small gulp of beer and huffed slightly.

 

”I’m here with my brother. We’re working for the Colorado Springs Independent, and we’re writing an article on local folklore,” Sam said confidently, taking another swig of his beer.  The man just glared at him for a moment, turning the glass bottle on the counter between his fingers in lazy circles.

 

”You’re a writer?” he asked, seemingly a little intrigued. Sam nodded, still smiling a little. For a few seconds he just waited for the man to ask him what the whole folklore thing was about, but no question ever came. Instead the man just kept looking at him.

 

”Yeah... Yeah, I am,” Sam then said when he realized that the man was not going to ask.

 

”Have you ever heard about the lost twins of Pikes Peak?” Sam finally asked. The stranger next to him was still just glaring somewhat emptily at him, which was making Sam a little uncomfortable. It was like the man had never heard of personal space or proper eye contact etiquette. After all you’re not supposed to stare someone dead in the eye for thirty seconds straight. And definitely not a stranger.

 

”Maybe,” the man then said flatly, finally breaking eye contact to gulp down some beer.  Sam’s eyes widened – both with renewed interest and relief.

 

”Maybe?” he asked, scraping his nail against the paper label on the glass bottle, gone in thought. This man sure wasn’t the chatty type. Or at least he wasn’t chatty about the things that actually mattered to Sam.

 

”Yeah, I mean... I’ve heard some things,” the stranger said but suddenly let out a chuckle, almost interrupting himself.

 

”Aren’t you a little young to be working for the Indy?” he asked, slurping down more beer. Sam smiled a little broader, already ready for a question of that sort.

 

”My NCE says otherwise,” Sam said while tilting his head in a slightly challenging manner, staring at the guy as if he was daring him to ask further questions about his age. It seemed to be working, because the stranger just let out a snicker but seemed to drop the subject.

 

”Alright. My name’s Chuck, by the way,” he said, offering Sam his hand. Satisfied with his seemingly very believable lie Sam took it, shaking hands with the man who was now no longer nameless. He was just hoping that maybe he could get some information out of him. He seemed to know something and he and Dean were at the end of their wits as things were now. They needed some clues to go on or this whole thing could blow up in their faces.       

 

”So... What have you heard about these lost twins?” Sam probed, trying to look less interested than he was by taking another nonchalant swig of his beer. The man huffed and suddenly moved a little bit closer to Sam, their knees touching.

 

“How do I know you won’t just quote me as the ‘local maniac’?” Chuck asked, placing an elbow on the counter right next to Sam’s beer and twisting his torso towards him slightly. Surprised by the sudden invasion of his personal space Sam shrugged and tried to keep his smile plastered on.

 

“Trust me, I’ve heard a bit of everything. Whatever you say won’t surprise me,” Sam stated while casually trying to scoot a little further to his left on the stool, away from the man.

 

“Really?” the man said, now resting the side of his face against his palm as he looked up at Sam, eyes dewy and clearly intoxicated. His pupils were dilated to the point where the blue irises were almost swallowed by the blackness. Slightly uncomfortable Sam nodded.

 

“Yeah…” he just said, taking another quick swig of the beer.

 

“I just don’t feel comfortable talking about it here, ya know?” Chuck then said lowly, almost in a whisper, as he leaned towards Sam ever so slightly. The moist warmth from his breath hit Sam’s ear, carrying with it the scent of stale beer and old cigarettes and made him suppress the urge to suddenly cringe.

 

“Umm, well…” Sam began, but before he knew it the man had wrapped an arm around him, clapping his opposite shoulder lightly. Without having the time to properly process what was going on Sam just stiffened up by the unexpected touch.

 

“I can tell you a hell of a lot about the twins, but I sure as hell won’t do it in here,” Chuck slurred, tapping Sam’s shoulder resolutely as if he was trying to really underline a point. Whatever the point might be Sam wasn’t aware of it.

 

“Where do you wanna talk then?” Sam asked, trying to ignore the weight of the man’s body starting to drag him down more and more from the stool. This guy had definitely had a bit too much to drink, he thought. And he was a little too friendly. But at least he was chatty as well, it seemed. And everyone knows that a drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts.

 

“Do you have any suggestions?” Chuck mumbled, his hand dropping from Sam’s shoulder and briefly sliding down his back – only to settle on his forearm on the counter, squeezing it a little, while he looked at him with a strangely sincere look on his face. Sam frowned, an insecure smile on his lips.

 

“I, umm… Not at the moment,” Sam found himself say in a flustered voice. Was that a burning he could feel in his cheeks?

 

“Well, you can think about it while a take a leak,” the man then chuckled and suddenly slid down off the stool and headed for the men’s room. Staggering along the bar he didn’t look back but disappeared around the corner which led to the paint-chipped door to the restrooms. For a moment Sam just sat there on his stool, dumbstruck. He thought the bartender sent him a weird look out of the corner of his eye but he wasn’t sure.

 

“That’s cute,” a familiar voice suddenly said and Sam turned on his chair, craning his neck slightly.

 

“What?” he just said, turning back and taking another mouthful of the now lukewarm beer. There was an amused huff behind him.

 

“How you let your boyfriend go to the restroom all by himself,” Dean scoffed, suppressing a laugh as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. Sam just sighed into his beer, causing it to whistle in a low note when his breath hit the mouth of the bottleneck. He turned his head halfway towards his brother.

 

“The guy’s just being friendly, Dean,” he said, scraping the nail of his index finger against the already torn label on the glass bottle again.

 

“Yeah. And I’m Mickey Mouse,” Dean laughed, finally not able to hold back his amusement.

 

“Seriously, dude…” Sam muttered under his breath, turning the bottle in useless circles on the polished, wooden counter.

 

“Im’a let you back at it, tiger,” Dean grinned, suddenly disappearing back into the crowd and in between the many and fully occupied tables. Sam bit his lip, stifling the urge to yell something all too sarcastic at his brother as he retreated. But he kept quiet, managing to form a welcoming smile when Chuck settled back on to the bar stool next to him, letting out a satisfied grunt.

 

“Phew…” he sighed, grabbing a hold of his beer. Apparently the trip to the men’s room had been a great relief, judging by his tone of voice.

 

“You never did tell me your name,” Chuck then said, looking at Sam with big, questioning eyes. He looked a little suspicious while he tilted his head, just glaring at him with those dewy, drunk eyes. He looked kind of like a curious canine. To be honest Sam was impressed that the man was still just somewhat coherent. He acted like his blood was half alcohol, yet still he didn’t slur to the extent where words became undistinguishable.

 

“I’m Sam,” he answered, lifting his bottle and raising his eyebrow in an inquisitive manner.

 

“I wanna hear about the twins,” he then added confidently, awaiting the man’s reaction to his sudden bluntness. If this man was going to spill the beans it would be now and Sam might as well take advantage of it. Also, keeping up appearances was taking its toll on him. The amount of beer in his system was starting to show. Well, at least he could feel it by now. To say the least.

 

“Yeah? Where ya wanna go?” Chuck asked, his glance suddenly darting around the room as if he was scared that someone might have heard them. Sam shrugged.

 

“Can’t we just go out the back?” he asked. By now the label on the bottle was almost completely peeled off, but his fingers were still fidgeting with it none the less. The man next to him smiled broadly.

 

“Sure,” he replied shortly, still looking around.

 

“Let’s drink up and I’ll tell ya all about it,” he added, finally clinking his bottle against Sam’s.

 

“Bottom’s up!” he exclaimed, putting the bottle to his lips and downing the last two mouthfuls. Sam wasn’t as lucky though. He almost had half a bottle left. He took three sips before feeling a bit too full and his stomach a bit too bubbly from the carbonated beverage.

 

“Oh come on now, kid,” Chuck burst out, obviously noticing Sam’s struggle. Sam just glared at him for a moment, feeling a bit lightheaded and slightly annoyed.

 

“You look a little pale. Can’t hold your liquor yet?” the man mocked, but winked at him at the same time to apparently let him know that he was only joking. Sam huffed. He’d be damned if some old drunkard was going to tell him how to chug a beer. So instead of leaving the half empty bottle on the counter he picked it back up and put it to his lips, pouring the contents down his throat as fast as it would go. He just wanted to get that information out of the strange man next to him – and as fast as possible. And he had an idea that Chuck wasn’t going to cooperate too well if he chickened out and didn’t join him in his stupid beer binging.

 

“There,” Sam merely stated and put the empty bottle down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Chuck’s eyes grew a little bigger. Sam thought they looked funny. Like they were a bit fuzzy at the edges.   

 

“Let’s go,” he then said, suppressing a sudden urge to burp uninhibitedly.

 

“Sure thing,” Chuck just said, looking at Sam like he was mesmerized by his ability to suddenly expertly handle and chug down a beer. Getting off his stool and nearly stumbling in the process Sam smirked at the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, in some shady, local bar trying way harder than necessary to impress some random lush with his non-existent beer chugging skills. And getting drunk in the process. Well, duh. He stifled a small giggle.

 

“Follow me,” Chuck said and started to quickly plow his way through the crowd. Sam blinked rapidly, clearing his suddenly fogged vision and hurried to follow him. As they moved through the people-stuffed room he scanned his surroundings, looking for Dean. But he was probably in the restroom or hooking up with some chick somewhere, because he couldn’t spot him.

 

“It’s just through here,” Chuck said, opening a small door half hidden away behind a velvet curtain next to a small, worn out stage in the far end of the room. When he opened the door a sudden rush of cold air hit Sam square in the face, nearly knocking him backwards. He had forgotten how cold Colorado was in the winter. Shivering he stepped outside, following closely behind Chuck and trying not to stumble on the door sill. A small pile of crusty and dirty snow collapsed under his shoe when he stepped on it and instantly his breath turned to clouds of grey steam in the freezing night. It felt like the cold air was turning the inside of his lungs to ice, leaving crystals gnawing at his insides.

 

“Alright,” Chuck said, closing the door behind Sam. It whined on its hinges as it swung shut, leaving them suddenly engulfed by nothing but the low noise of drowned out traffic far away instead of the roaring sound of people chatting and glasses clinking inside the bar. Sam shivered in the cold, automatically rubbing his arms through the slightly worn cotton of his shirt as he leaned against the wall.

 

“What do you want?” the man asked shortly, crossing his arms in front of his chest in what looked like an almost defensive position. Quick puffs of breath shot out from his mouth like small, grey bursts of fog and he tilted his head in that canine-like way again while he eyed Sam up and down. Taken a little aback Sam frowned.

 

“I wanna know about the twins,” he stated and frowned even more when he realized that he was actually slurring a little. Chuck let out a huff.

 

“I could tell you…” he began and took a step towards Sam in the deserted alleyway, ice and snow making a crushing sound under his boots.  Placing a hand on the brick wall next to Sam’s head he looked at him, chin tilted upwards ever so slightly to compensate for the height difference. After all Sam was a good four inches taller than him.

 

“Everything you wanna know about them…” he continued, now placing his other hand on the other side of Sam’s head, glaring up at him with a weird gleam in his eye that Sam couldn’t quite decipher. But he didn’t like it one bit.

 

“Hey,” Sam blurted out but the rest of whatever he wanted to say got stuck in his throat when Chuck suddenly placed one of his hands on Sam’s chest, grabbing a hold of the cotton fabric and pulling him out from the wall a little.   

 

“What? You think you’re gonna get it for free?” Chuck spat, slamming Sam back into the wall, back first. The unexpected and rather hard  impact with the brick wall had Sam letting out a sharp gasp as air was forced out of his lungs and he instantly grabbed a hold of the man’s fist squeezing his shirt.

 

“What’re you-“ he started, but the man simply tightened his grip on the shirt, pressing him harder against the wall and effectively shutting him up.

 

“Im’a tell ya! But you’re not getting it for free…” Chuck snarled and the fist clenching Sam’s shirt unfolded only to spread its fingers out, starting to explore the contours of his muscles beneath the thin shirt. Without even thinking about it Sam instinctively twisted his torso to the side, lifting up his hands to push the man away – only his hands didn’t really obey the instructions his brain was sending them. Instead of delivering a solid shove to the man in front of him, his hands were just weakly fumbling to clasp onto Chuck’s wrist.

 

“Get your hands off…” Sam slurred and trailed off, pulling at the hand now travelling down his chest curiously. The man let out a chuckle as he leaned in, almost pressing his body flush against his.       

 

“You know, those puppy dog eyes of yours don’t fool me…” Chuck grinned, his other hand now suddenly cupping Sam’s privates through his jeans. Letting out a surprised yelp Sam wanted to stagger backwards – only his back was already pressed firmly against the brick wall next to the door, he realized. Feverishly he found himself wondering why on earth his body didn’t respond to his mind’s orders. He wanted to cock back his fist and deliver a solid punch – but his hands were just limply trying to brush off the invading fingers instead and not succeeding.

 

“You want it,” Chuck groaned, pressing himself against Sam and obscenely grinding his hips against him. With his breath stuck in his throat Sam merely let out a small gasp.

 

“You might look like some innocent schoolboy, but we both know better, don’t we?” the man whispered and let one of his large hands wrap itself around Sam’s throat, squeezing a little.

 

“Stop,” Sam choked, now trying to pry off the calloused hand attempting to squeeze his windpipe shut. Digging his fingers into the flesh of hand around his throat Sam wheezed for air, his mind in a panic to try to figure out what exactly was happening.

 

“You really should check your drink once in a while,” Chuck grinned, fingers of his other hand slipping past Sam’s belt and into his boxers. Horror instantly washed through Sam from the unwanted and way too intimate touch and he squirmed, trying to kick out at the man pressed against him.

 

“Now, now. Easy,” the man coaxed, starting to stroke Sam’s length through the boxer briefs all while looking up at him with a stern, yet wild expression on his face.

 

“Don’t touch m-“ Sam yelped, but it came out as not much more than a guttural grunt when Chuck applied more pressure to his throat, effectively muting him. Trapped between the cold brick wall and Chuck’s sturdy frame, he thrashed back and forth the best he could to try throwing off the stranger.

 

“Sssshhhh,” Chuck hushed, stroking Sam harder and more eagerly. The rough treatment left the sensitive skin stinging in the cold and Sam shuddered, cursing himself for not just throwing the punches he wanted to throw. But his body was tingly and strange and he couldn’t get his limbs to obey his mind even though he desperately wanted it to. A chuckle escaped the heavily breathing man in front of him and when the hand resumed its fondling it traveled even further south inside Sam’s boxers, leaving him heaving for air. Lightheaded and disoriented Sam managed to lift up his knee, hitting the man in the abdomen and catching him off guard.

 

“Ouffff!” Chuck burst out, stumbling a little. For a few seconds Chuck wobbled on his feet, taking a step backwards to regain his balance and thus half way losing his grip around Sam’s throat. Taking advantage of the few seconds at his disposal Sam turned towards the door, grabbing the handle and pulling at it with all of his might. The entire alleyway looked like it had turned into some sort of dark liquid, sailing before his eyes in a strange fashion and threatening to swallow him whole. In front of him Chuck was recovering from the unexpected blow. With his heart beating frantically in his chest as if it was trying to punch its way right out of his ribcage Sam pulled at the door.

 

“Sorry, honey. It only opens one way,” the man said, his voice low and ominous this time as he slowly approached.

 

“Get away from me!” Sam yelled, still pulling uselessly at the icy handle. He wanted to run out of the alley, he wanted to run out into the street and disappear into a crowd – but he knew that his legs couldn’t carry him that far. As a matter of fact he probably wouldn’t even make it inside even if the door did somehow magically open.

 

“Ssshh, relax, boy,” Chuck said, almost hummed, as he stalked closer. Sam finally let go of the handle, giving up on trying to open the heavy door. Instead he held up his fists defensively, trying to look as big as he could. It might be primitive but right now it was the only trick he had left in the bag. Chuck merely let out an unimpressed huff and took a step closer, quickly and effortlessly closing the distance between them. All of a sudden the stranger’s thickset body was pressing against Sam again, both of its hands now down his pants and rummaging eagerly about down there. Sam let out something close to a whimper when he discovered that his fists were not punching the man – instead they were now just dangling passively down along his sides. Tingly and oddly numb he realized that he almost couldn’t stand. His knees felt like they had turned into some kind of useless goo.

 

“Don’t…” Sam slurred, his words almost inaudible over the distant buzz of traffic. Chuck was making panting noises while his hands were groping Sam’s privates, squeezing and kneading the soft skin between his fingers and occasionally pinching the flesh painfully.

 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Chuck moaned, breathing heavily against the side of Sam’s neck as he now started fumbling with his belt buckle. The metallic clinking noise instantly made Sam’s eyes flutter open. He hadn’t even realized that he had closed them.

 

"No!” he whined hoarsely, trying to shove the hands away. But they didn’t budge. Or maybe he hadn’t even tried? He couldn’t tell. Right now the alleyway looked like one big blur of dirty snow and darkness and his head was spinning in a panic. His face felt like it was on fire, yet still his body felt like it was completely frozen, icy chills running back and forth between the back of his neck and the heels of his feet. Sam squirmed and tried to kick – but he wasn’t sure if he succeeded in doing so or not.

 

“Get the hell off!!”   

 

The yell echoed between the walls in the alleyway and Sam suddenly wasn’t sure what was up and what was down. All he knew right now was that he felt incredibly dizzy. And cold. So cold that it felt like his bones would splinter should he hit something. Suddenly a hand grabbed a hold of his collar and he felt himself being yanked up the wall. Had he fallen down?

 

“You okay?!” a voice asked, dripping with concern. Sam cracked open his eyes a little, not even realizing that he had closed them to begin with. But everything in front of him seemed to be warped and wobbly and the alleyway was swirling around in strange shapes and patterns, leaving him feeling breathless and queasy. The hand then loosened its grip and let go of him slowly, following Sam down the wall and onto the icy asphalt. Confused he just sat there in a motionless heap, trying to make sense of what was happening.

 

“Sam!” the voice said and something clapped his cheek repeatedly.

 

“Geez, what the hell did he give you?” the voice continued and Sam tried to focus on the blurry spot of color in front of him. His bottom lip quivered a little – but he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or something else entirely.

 

“D-Dean??” Sam heard himself stutter. Something warm was placed around him.

 

“Yeah, Sammy, it’s me,” Dean’s gravelly voice answered. Relief instantly washed through Sam, leaving him feeling even more boneless than before. He hadn’t thought it possible, but it was like the sound of Dean’s voice alone let his body finally relax, let him fall and collapse into whatever the warmth embracing him was. Sam felt his feet skidding and stumbling across the icy asphalt, his body supported by something warm and hard. Automatically he picked up on a familiar scent. Cologne. Cheap shampoo. That recognizable whiff of fresh, salty sweat.

 

“Dean,” he slurred, a smile on his lips. It was Dean he was leaning against and Dean’s arm wrapped around him, he realized hazily.  

 

“Yeah, buddy. I gotcha,” Dean said, his voice slightly strained from halfway carrying Sam to the Impala parked out on the main street. If it hadn’t been for the heavy blur fogging up his vision Sam would have been able to see Chuck lying in a pile on the ground, fresh blood oozing into the crusty snow. It didn’t look scarlet as usual though. In the dark it was more like a pitch black liquid melting the snow. Realizing how tired he was feeling Sam discovered that he couldn’t really hold his head up straight. Instead it was dangling in a strange angle on Dean’s shoulder and he blinked when his eyelids stubbornly tried to close.

 

“Ca-Can’t… Stay awake, D-Dean…” Sam mumbled, teeth chattering. Trying to inch closer to his brother’s frame in order to absorb some of his body heat he let out a small sigh of frustration. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes from closing. Even though he wanted to stay awake his eyelids just felt like someone was pulling at them or had placed lead weights on top of them, weighing them down.   

 

“It’s alright. It’s alright,” Dean said. It almost sounded like some sort of chant, Sam thought dizzily. Something in the tone of Dean’s voice made him feel a little uneasy though. It almost sounded like Dean was trying to persuade himself that things were indeed alright. Was his brother scared? No, couldn’t be. Sam wanted to ask him about it, but somehow he didn’t really feel like he was able to.  

 

“Mmmff…” Sam slurred, forgetting what he was trying to say before the words had even formed in his mind.

 

“Dean…?” he groaned quietly, the sound of his brother’s heavy breathing lulling him into a strange sleep that was much needed but not really welcome.   

 

“Yeah, I gotcha…” Dean’s voice said again.          

 

 

 


End file.
